Going to War with You
by Pomodoro Crisi
Summary: America and England during the revolutionary war. It's the way the war should have ended in my mind. Human names used. AlfredxArthur AmericaxEngland


**Yup I joined the slightly small amount of people in love with Hetalia! I love that show like mad! So here's a really short America/England! I loves it so!**

Alfred gripped the butt of his gun tighter, trying to force his finger to pull the trigger. He was the hero, heroes are never afraid to pull the trigger. So why couldn't he?

Those green eyes, the ones he'd known for so long, stared up at him. It wasn't as if the man who owned the eyes was telling him not to shoot. It would be pointless, this was war, but he wasn't pleading, wasn't begging for his life to be spared. He had a feeling that the man believed himself above such acts of cowardice, but wouldn't someone with a barrel of a gun staring him in the face say _something_? This wasn't the Arthur, this wasn't the _England_, he knew. This wasn't the boy who had taken him in when he was still too small to speak, wasn't the one who raised him. This was just his broken shell, empty of the soul he had grown to love so much. This wasn't his Arthur.

Couldn't he see? Didn't he know that he wasn't breaking away for himself? He was leaving for Arthur as well. He wanted them to be able to become more than just a nation and its colony. He wanted them to be on equal footing so he could look in those endlessly green eyes and tell him why he had chosen him as his guardian.

This isn't how it was supposed to turn out. Arthur shouldn't be on his knees, alone, in the rain. Alfred had pictured it so much differently. He had expected Arthur to smile in that brotherly way of his and tell him he was proud of the great nation he knew he would become. It was supposed to be happy tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks, not these hot, bitter ones that streamed, unchecked down his face now.

Alfred tried to look at Arthur in a way that would force him to pull the trigger. He tried to remember all the times the man had pissed him off, raised his taxes, ignore his rights, but he couldn't bring himself to see anything more than the man he loved broken at his feet. He should pull the trigger, for his country, but somehow the newly forming nation couldn't seem to push his will to see this man alive and whole again. His bosses were going to kill him, but he couldn't do it, he wouldn't be the end of this man or this nation.

He dropped the gun, glad it didn't decide to go off at the force of the meeting the ground, and fell to his knees in front of Arthur. He couldn't bring himself to answer the questions in those green eyes. He wanted to know why he was being allowed to live, why he was being left behind by his once charge. He had those answers in the forefront of his mind, but they weren't as important as the fact that the man in front of his looked so broken and he had to find something that would make him whole again.

He stared pleadingly in to the green eyes that had been watching him so as long as he cared to remember, hoping what his impulses told him to do wasn't something that would end up with him getting his head blown off or a bayonet through his chest. Closing his eyes as tight as possible, Alfred leaned in and closed the distance between their lips. It wasn't something out of one of Canada's romance books and it was nothing like France's attempts at kissing anyone which were usually sloppy and scared the person on the receiving end for years to come. It wasn't anything like the way he wanted it to be when he had first got the idea into his head. It was desperate and pleading and everything he couldn't even begin to put into words.

He pressed as hard as he could into the older man, waiting for the cool metal of a bullet or the force of a fist to connect with his body. None came; instead he was rewarded with Arthur pressing back with more force than he looked able to handle at the moment. Alfred smiled, glad that his message had gotten across. He would still owe Arthur answers later, but they could be given when they were in a room with a warm fire crackling happily and they could rest without fearing the next round of fire.

**Yeah! So comments? Concerns? Love it? Hate it? Let me know. And if you have any ideas for another Hetalia fic give me some! I'm in an awful writers block! Of course you'll get credit for the idea**


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